Honey and Wheat
by xsuitcaseofmemoriesx
Summary: AU. Puck works in the bakery, and the girl with the honey hair passes by every day- an old friend who was assigned Finn as a partner in their dystopian society. Rachel works in the music store, but immediately falls for Finn. P/Q, F/R. Kurt/Sam.
1. i'm just a poor boy, i need no sympathy

A/N: I got a prompt to do a utopia drabble on Tumblr and this just sort of happened. It's sort of The Giver/Hunger Games-esque. I'm thinking of continuing it with an actual plot, along with the addition of some Finn/Rachel. We'll see :) Hope you enjoy!

…

She passes by the baker's every day. He's an apprentice. He usually ices cakes and makes rosettes and does the dainty things they force him to do, but when a hot girl comes around, he does manly things like knead dough or lifting big trays and stuff. At least, he thinks it's manly.

But she passes every day, hand intertwined with that of her partner's, Finn. The sun makes her gentle hair glow like honey.

They used to know each other. They used to be secret friends—running to the woods hand in hand, making mudpies and picking flowers and catching lightning bugs. When her first class badge was coated in grime and dirt, it didn't matter that he was a lowly 30th class boy. The poorest of the poor.

One day, she comes in the shop, alone.

"Two loaves, please." Her eyes are downturned. Females cannot look at males; they can look at no man but their father or their partner, whom they are assigned to at eighteen.

"Comin' right at you, Quinn."

"Thank you, sir."

He flicks some flour in her face, making her raise her hazel eyes to his in disdain.

"You know my name." He says solemnly. He slides a few coins under the table. "You know what it's for."

"Thank you."

"Are you going to say anything else?"

She rolls her eyes.

"How's the baby?"

"Shush. Is it that noticeable?" She straightened her posture.

"You look a little rounder. Finn's going to get suspicious soon."

"Don't. Just don't. I'm trying to hold off getting exiled as long as I can."

He wraps the loaves in paper and places them in her hands. His flour-dusted fingers make contact with her spotless ones for a moment. She snatches them away.

"It was a mistake, you know. Doing that with you." She whispers, and then swings open the door so that the bell clangs obnoxiously.


	2. bigger dreams than this town can take

The music shop is in a quaint little corner of town. Soft chimes clink when the thumbprint coated door is opened. The open sign flickers on and off, making a barely detectable _bbbbzzzzzz._ The yellowed piano sits in the corner; the peeling wallpaper is hidden by endless shelves of sheet music and records. It's the only shop in town that isn't pristine and new.

Rachel sits at the piano, playing a delicate song she composed herself. She has plenty of time to compose little jingles. Music isn't really important to anyone here. To a few, perhaps, but not nearly as important as rules. But music never really seems to escape Rachel's head.

"Rachel, I'm going to the Broadway Pops concert over in Ronendale. I'll be back in the morning." Jesse rushes past, satchel over his shoulder and his pungent hair gel wafting in a cloud. He gives her a quick kiss on the forehead.

Rachel wistfully sighs as he leaves the shop. She would do anything to be at the concert in Ronendale, the city where everyone sings. Like a real, live musical. All she has is her movie musical DVD stash, hidden in a drawer.

She knows she should be happy that she received a partner so perfectly suited for her. And she is happy. Many people are assigned a partner that is nothing like them, and they are stuck in a dysfunctional, abusive relationship for the rest of their lives. Jesse is everything she is, and more. Determined. Talented. Musical. More self-interest than necessary. A rule follower. Sometimes, though, she wishes for excitement. Someone right for her in all the wrong ways. Someone, something, new and exciting.

A place that doesn't smell like money.

A tall boy enters the shop. He's cute. He has brown hair that looks very worthy of ruffling, and a freckle dappled face. His badge loudly declares **first class** in bold red print. There aren't too many of them to be found in this shop; the sound of jingling coins and rustling of paper money is the soundtrack to the rich's lives.

He walks up to the counter, looking Rachel in the eye and warmly smiling, giving her a pleasant, tingly feeling in her stomach.

"Hi, Miss…?"

"Miss Berry."

"Miss Berry. That's a really nice name."

"Um, thank you, sir. Is there anything in particular you are looking for?"

"Do you have any 20th century earth music?"

"Oh yes, all the earth music is over in this section."

Rachel leads him over to a tall bookshelf.

"All the classics from Mozart to Lady Gaga."

The man pages through the records, smiling to himself.

"I like this music. It's so rich, you know? People's lives revolved around this stuff. They wrote these lyrics about such personal things, and then just… broadcasted it to the world."

Rachel smiles and perches herself on a nearby coffee table. "Mhm. And listened to them on those… iPacks."

"iPods. I'm taking music classes at the Mint. Theory and history and all that stuff, it's really cool."

The Mint is the academy for the upper classes. Rachel is impressed. "Wow, that's amazing! I wish I could take classes like that, but I don't really have enough funding…" Her cheeks turn red.

"It's sad. Music is something that can be understood by anyone, you know? I'm not that smart, and math gives me a killer migraine, but I can name any song from the 1980's earth genre."

"Ooh, eighties is your thing? Those songs were fun." Rachel had basically listened to every record in the store in her spare time.

"I have a whole hidden drawer in my room filled with CD's."

"You're kidding, right? I have a whole hidden drawer of musicals in mine."

"That's so cool."

Rachel realizes how unprofessional she has been with an upperclassmen, and coughs.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Finn. Finn Hudson. And what's your first name?"

Rachel's throat catches a little. No one ever does that. But does anyone above tenth class ever have such a lively conversation with her? Even look her in the eye?

"Rachel. But please—"

"Nice to meet you, Rachel," He says, pumping her arm enthusiastically. It feels like the nerve endings in her fingers are burning, in a really good way.

She catches a figure outside the shop window, out of the corner of her eye. Quinn Fabray. She wouldn't be caught dead in this store. But her eyes are practically lasers in the back of Finn's head.

"Um, Mr. Hudson, I think there's someone for you out there…?" Rachel vaguely gestures toward the window.

Finn whips his head around and sighs. "Crap. I mean, excuse me. Um, that's my partner."

nononononononono___**NO.**_

_Darn it._ Rachel's skyrocketing mood plummets.

"But I'll make sure to come back, okay? This place is like heaven. Hope to see you soon, Rachel."

He gives what she is pretty sure is the-most-adorable-smile-that-makes-her-want-to-melt-into-a-puddle-of-goo that she has ever seen. And then he leaves. Quinn immediately bombards him with an onslaught of bitter words, from what Rachel can see from the back of the shop.

Rachel spins around in her chair and sighs. This is so, so bad. This isn't supposed to happen. This is horrible. This is like that ancient book Romeo and Juliet that she found in the bookstore.

Yet, somehow, she's never felt more alive.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews. I'm glad you are enjoying it! To Blair, since I can't reply to your message—I _highly_ recommend the Hunger Games, it is one of the best book series I have ever read :) I actually don't even remember if anyone gets pregnant because I read each of them a while ago in about a day or so each (they were that good). But yeah.

Anyway, I ventured into the realm of Finn and Rachel in this chapter. But I will definitely be going back to Quinn and Puck as well! Who knows what will happen next. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review with any input you have!


	3. doubt, porcelain, and the abnormal

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. Sorry that this chapter took a little bit; I was dealing with finals last week so they occupied a lot of time. Today was my last day of school, so I'll have a lot more time to just sit around and write!

Also, I changed things around a little bit for the story, and Finn's dad dies when he is three.

….

"I can't believe you, Finn." Quinn said, dragging him along the path.

"Is there something wrong with music?"

"No, there's something wrong with that _thing_. Rachel Berry."

"I don't know what you're talking about. She seems cool."

"She's _thirtieth _class. The poor are dirty rats who want only money."

Finn runs his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Isn't that all the rich want, too?" Finn replies in a bitter tone.

Quinn bites her lip.

"Anyway," Finn continues, "I was thirtieth class once."

"When you were a _baby._"

"Yeah. But I remember it a little."

Most classes were based on heredity and the money that had been passed through the family for generations. There were a few special cases, like the Hudson's, however. When an individual enrolls in the Peace Force (Finn like to use the good old Earth term army), as they gain rank, they also gain social status. Finn's dad, Christopher, did so. The fact that his mom worked her butt off probably helped some, too.

His dad passed when he was three. Killed in one of the few battles since the relocation to this planet a few hundred years back. Carole Hudson refused to remarry.

Finn still had a few vague memories, of being poor. Sitting in a tiny cramped room, his mother rocking him slowly. Carole running to the post office to read Daddy's letters, censored and half crossed out by the stupid government. But Carole was happy just to see Christopher's messy scrawl. Finn remembers gathering around a guitar player with other muddy little kids, singing folk songs.

He also remembers the moves to gradually better smelling and quieter and larger houses, while his dad was away. After his dad passed away and received the highest honors, they took a huge jump to the first class.

He only met his father a few times. Faint, fleeting memories. A visit at Christmas; lighting the candles on Finn's birthday cake. But Finn never really _knew_ him.

In addition, he didn't have the stereotypical first class genes. His freckle-dappled cheeks and untamed hair marked a lower class member, rather than the porcelain skin and golden hair and proportionate features that tended to identify someone of a higher class.

"It doesn't matter if you remember it or not, Finn. What matters is that right now, at this moment, you are in the first class. And she is in the lowest class. And she's weird."

"What do you mean, she's weird?"

Quinn mentally digs through her childhood memories in the woods. Rachel tagged along a lot. She was friends with Puck, and Quinn and Rachel grew to be friends themselves. How their friendship was broken was not a memory Quinn wanted to delve into. But she remembers Rachel singing funny little songs, a lot. And talking to the butterflies like they were people. And… stealing those who mattered to Quinn from her.

"She talks to herself, and to inanimate objects. And she steals people away."

"She doesn't look like a kidnapper."

Quinn stops Finn in his tracks and faces him. "You are so _thick._ Think a little bit. I don't mean it literally. She's a nasty little cheat and she has the tendency to make out with people that are taken."

Finn wrinkles his brow. "And you know this how…?"

Quinn's cheeks gain color. "I've heard it around. But someone with that sort of outlook on life is absolutely not a good person to be around."

At this point, they reach Quinn's front door. They still live separately until they are finished school.

"I'll see you later, Finn," Quinn says, resting her hands on his broad shoulders to boost herself up on her tiptoes. She leaves a soft kiss on his lips and practically breathes, "I love you."

"I love you too, Quinn," Finn whispers back, somehow doubting the sincerity of his reply.

He's never had doubts before. Sure, Quinn can be sort of controlling and bossy, but he's never questioned the rules of the government. The government placed them together as life partners, so they must be fit for each other. They're meant to be together.

Right?


	4. beth, i know you're lonely

A/N: Yay for past!Quick! That is what makes up a lot of this chapter. I apologize for a lot of references of the past in this chapter and the last; I feel it's necessary to explain the backstories to understand what's going on. Hopefully I'm not boring you with them, but they're fun to write :) I promise that soon, there'll be more development in the present (along with more explanation about why they are on this planet, and what Rachel has done).

For reference—_waldeinsamkeit _is a German word meaning the feeling of being alone in the woods, and _meraki_ is a Greek word for doing something with soul, creativity, and love.

….

She's made too many mistakes. She's hurt too many people.

It's an ever-present thought in Quinn's mind—as she kisses Finn; as she guiltily talks to Puck; as she lies to her parents.

She sits on her plush bedroom floor, numerous worn photo albums spread around her. They're filled with school pictures and family photoshoots and official pictures with Finn, but when this layer is literally peeled, Quinn's secret life materializes underneath. Under the visible photos lie ones taken in the woods with her old friends. Quinn would smuggle along Daddy's antique film camera—probably worth millions, considering it was Earth era. Her father would have a conniption if he knew.

Quinn would never admit it to anyone (just like she'll never reveal any of her vulnerabilities), but she's a sentimental person. She has a problem with the past. She obsesses over it, worries about it, plays it like a worn video in her mind. She grasps the past tightly like a lifeline, because sometimes she thinks it's the only thing that will keep her sane. So she studies the photos a lot—a macro shot of some wildflowers, a picture taken by Puck of her swimming in the river, a blurred rabbit weaving between the lush trees; a close-up of her and Puck, their heads squeezed together so that both could fit in the frame.

Quinn had first met Puck when she was an emotional three year old. She could see it clearly—her father had been drinking, a bottle gripped in one hand, his other curled tightly. His breath smelled strongly. Quinn didn't know what it was at the time; she just knew that it smelled _bad_. His face was beet red and he was spewing words, and as soon as his hand swatted her cheek… she ran, as far as her plump legs could take her. They took her to a little boy with funny hair sitting on a log by the river, in Waldeinsamkeit woods.

Quinn couldn't stop whimpering, and Puck, in the way only a fellow three year old can, comforted her. He gave her a kiss on the forehead like he saw the big boys do, and he made her smile.

She didn't tell him why she was upset until a few years later, but he understood. He always did. His father was the same way.

It wasn't until much later that he brought the alcohol himself. They were fifteen, and he smuggled some from his family's ice box.

"No. Stop it," Quinn said, trying to tear the bottle away. "Didn't we promise we'd never drink? That we'd never turn out like our fathers? We pinky promised."

"Pinky promises don't mean a thing." Puck retorted.

Tears brimmed in Quinn's eyes.

"When you're six years old, they're life or death."

Quinn soon realized she couldn't change Puck, and came less and less frequently to the Waldeinsamkeit. If he wanted to be an idiot, he could do so. After… the unmentionable drama with Rachel occurred, Quinn stopped coming altogether.

A particularly brutal fight with her father led her back to the woods, when she had just turned eighteen. No one understood her; not her mother, not Finn, whom she had recently been assigned too. Only the evergreen trees and the rushing river would silently listen. Puck found her hurling stones into the river and tearing grass out of the ground like a madman.

"C'mon, babe. Calm down." He stroked her hair and handed her a bottle of beer. She chugged it down quickly, along with another and another.

Quinn Fabray was _definitely_ drunk. She wouldn't stop shaking, even though the temperature was steamy and humid. Puck removed his jacket and wrapped it around her.

"I love you." She said simply, and leaned in to kiss him. Puck couldn't get over her scent, her taste, her everything—a combination of laundry detergent, honeysuckle, and the strong alcohol. Her hair tickled his eyes and she won't stop kissing him and he needed air—

Quinn's mind wasn't clear at the time, so the memory was fuzzy.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Puck asked, after Quinn had made it clear that she wanted more.

"Anyfing to take my mind off of my shfitty life," she slurred.

….

Which led to Quinn's current state, which included mood swings, sudden urges for pickles, and a rounder belly. Quinn slams the album shut and logs onto the computer. She needs to be informed. If she's going to give birth to a bastard child, it should at least be healthy.

She knows nothing. No one in the damn society knows anything, to be honest, except the nameless doctors dressed in white who deliver the babies. But none of the general public is taught anything; no one knows. Her mother and father gave birth to Quinn just as blindly as any other couple.

The government blocks sites. She hates it. They are blocked from any "inappropriate" information, or from hearing any news from faraway places. The Earth and the supposedly _sinful_ people that remained there could be burning up, and no one on their planet, Meraki, would have any idea.

Puck showed her how to crack the code, back when he started getting interested in illegal business. Switching certain letters of the url around, adding specific numbers, entering a password. It takes Quinn almost an hour of recalling and hundreds of tries, but she gets through.

Nausea grows in her stomach as she reads about the… thing inside her. And how it currently looks like a mutant. And how she should be avoiding certain things, and taking vitamins. It's overwhelming.

Quinn pulls up a diagram of the growing baby, and clicks print. She sprints through the hallway and down the stairs, knowing that if someone reaches the printer before her, it could end—

"Quinn Fabray. What. Is. This?"

Badly.

Quinn's right foot hovers over the last step. Her father stands at the bottom, holding the diagram with two fingers and as far away from him as possible, as if it was toxic.

"I have no idea where that could have came from!" Quinn said with a squeaky voice.

"Do _not_ lie to me." Her father leans closer.

"Okay, I printed it out but it's only because I wanted to be informed about my future and—"

Her father's hand smacks her face, leaving her cheek tingling and burning.

"That's not the way things work, Quinn. You are not supposed to know. The process is natural."

"Why do I have to conform to society? Can't I be different? Why do I have to be a fucking robot?" Quinn blubbers, immediately regretting cursing and inching up a step.

"Are you pregnant?"

"I don't see what's wrong with wanting to _know._"

"Are you pregnant?"

"Leave me alone."

"Are you?"

"Get away from me!" Quinn's screams pulsate against her own eardrums.

"Get out of my house, you whore!"

She leaps back up the stairs as if her life depends on it. She climbs out of her window, down her house's latticework, and to Waldensamkeit.

She's asleep by the log when Puck finds her, after dark. He props her head in his lap and softly sings to her, her favorite song when she was young.

_Beth, I hear you calling, but I can't come home right now…_


	5. just a small town girl

A/N: Hello all! Sorry that this update took so long. I've been busy helping with a camp, along with a bit of a lack of motivation. Sorry if this is a blah chapter. I have another chapter planned that will possibly be better? Enjoy.

….

Rachel lounges on her small couch in her family's apartment, watching _Funny Girl_ and swatting mosquitoes away with the magazine in her hands.

She hears the communal phone down the hallway ring, but dismisses it as nothing. It's not like she ever get any calls, except for Jesse switching shifts with her at the shop, usually to go see a musical. Which seems to happen a little too frequently.

"Raaaachel!" croaks old Ms. Sanders next door. "It's for you, pumpkin!"

Rachel races down the hall. "Hello, Rachel Berry speaking!"

"Good afternoon, Rachel. Could you come to the main office of Brookfield?" Brookfield was the lower class academy.

"Oh yes, of course. I'll be there as soon as possible." Students rarely got called down to the office during the summer—so this was either very good or very bad.

She enters the school, smoothing her skirt. Her dusty flats click against the worn wooden floors, which dip and ripple in some spots due to humidity.

She knocks on the office door, the sound echoing through the nearly empty school.

"Please take a seat, Miss Berry," says Principal Jamison, a worn middle-aged woman.

"Let me introduce you to our guests. This is Principal Figgins, principal at the Mint, and Miss Pillsbury, who is the counselor there."

Rachel's stomach ties itself in knots as she shakes their hands. She notices Miss Pillsbury subtly apply hand sanitizer under the desk, but its strong fragnance reveals her act.

"If you haven't already figured it out, we have some important, life-changing news for you."

Rachel panicks. "Neither of my dads died at work, did they?"

"No, of course not. Good news, hun." Ms. Jamison could be a sweet woman, but it was evident that years of working in a school of poor, dysfunctional students had taken a toll on her.

Figgins takes over, speaking in a thick accent. "We received your application for admission in February, and reviewed it all spring. As you are aware, each year we admit a promising young student at Brookfield into the Mint. And you, Miss, are one of our final candidates."

Rachel squeals, resisting the urge to give each one of them a kiss on the cheek.

"We'd love to have you here. Your records and grades are excellent, and you are very involved in Brookfield's music program, albeit small. You seem to have very big dreams."

"Oh, yes sir!" Rachel grasps the trim of her skirt tightly.

"However, to receive this scholarship, more work has to be completed. This packet of additional summer assignments should be finished." The thick stack makes a dull slap on the desk as Figgins drops it.

"If I may ask… what does this mean for my family? Is there any class promotion?"

"As of now, your government money will be raised slightly. You will stay in the 30th class, but your achievements at the Mint may allow you to increase your status."

"Can… can they talk to me?"

"Yes. We have a class tolerance policy. There are still the necessary respect rules set by the government, but yes, they may talk to you."

"Thank you so, so much for this."

"My pleasure. I look forward to seeing you at the Mint soon."

Rachel can't wait to get out of Brookfield and _make_ something of herself.

And, you know, maybe see Finn Hudson.


	6. wandering the streets

A/N: I am so, SO sorry for not updating! It's been about a month, whoops. I've been really involved with summer camps, and that, a bit of writer's block, and general summer laziness has kind of kept me from writing. I already have the next chapter written, so I will post that very soon!

P.S: an important note about this chapter: I SHIP KUM. I apologize if you don't ship them or hate them with a burning passion so much that you don't want to read this anymore, but I'm not really sorry. :P Also, I'm not going to portray Blaine as some evil person if he comes up in the future, so don't worry Blaine fans.

Enjoy and review!

* * *

><p>Sam Evans trudges along the sidewalk. He doesn't have anywhere he needs to be. His hands are tucked in his jeans pockets, and his overgrown blonde hair falls in his eyes. He really wishes he could get his hands on some scissors, because he's tired of his slightly greasy locks blocking half of his vision.<p>

He studies his sneakers as he walks. A new pair could really be of use to him.

Next thing he knows, he walks into some glittery figure. "Oof!" it cries, as both of them land on the sidewalk.

After sitting up, Sam realizes that the figure is a boy, dressed in some sort of sequin-covered fashion statement.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I really have to look where I'm going." Sam quickly scuffles up and holds out his hand to help the boy.

"Oh, it's fine, really. Thank you!" The boy jumps up like a perky leprechaun.

It strikes Sam that the boy is cute. He pushes the thought away. Since when are _boys_ cute to him?

"Are you from Ronendale? The la—"

"The land where everyone sings? Yep." He says, rolling his eyes. "Kurt Hummel, future star of the Ronendale stage." He holds out his hand.

"Uhh… Sam Evans. Future nobody!" Kurt laughs.

"What brings you here?" asks Sam.

"Oh, sightseeing. I've heard there's a quaint music shop nearby."

"Yeah, my friend Rachel works there. But this isn't really the place you want to be. Heck, we shouldn't even be talking out here." Sam grabs Kurt's hand, without thinking, and takes him behind the nearby pharmacy.

"No one will see us here."

Kurt looks perplexed. "Why can't we be seen? Top secret business?" He smirks, but Sam stays serious.

"Haven't you heard about the rules here? I mean, I can't talk to anyone in any other classes, let alone some rich person from Ronendale."

"I'm not really rich. My dad runs a tire shop!"

"Well, you're rich for here. I don't think anyone below fifth class could buy a… sparkly tuxedo."

"They're very popular where I come from, mind you."

Almost an hour later, they're leaning against the back façade of the building, just talking.

"So there are less rules in Ronendale?"

"Not really. You still get a partner. There are still classes. They just think that if we sing all the time, and they encourage us to 'express ourselves,' it'll be a healthier environment."

"I wish Brookfield was like that."

"Eh. It's nice. I love singing. But Blaine wants to sing duets _all_ the time, which gets irritating."

"Who's Blaine?"

"My partner."

Sam's eyes bug out. "They allow… same-sex partnerships?"

"Yes… is that really strange?"

"Oh gosh, yes. I think just mentioning it in hearing range of other people sends you to jail, or something."

"I guess Ronendale is more accepting in that aspect. That's a shame." Kurt looks sadly at Sam. "Do you have a partner?"

"Nah. I'm seventeen. But in about two months, I will."

He's dreading it. Being forever chained to some girl he doesn't care about. He's never felt anything for a girl. It worries him sometimes, to the point that he hates himself. But he tries not to think about it.

"Don't be too worried. Blaine's a great guy, so I'm sure you'll turn out with someone nice."

After they had established that they both loved the smell of burning wood and that they both yearned to get away and that they both really liked the color blue, Sam never wanted him to leave.

"I-I guess I better go, Sam. My pass only allows me here for a few hours, and we've probably been talking for two."

"That was fun. Really fun."

"It was. You're… you're really cool, Sam. You'd be a good friend."

"Will… will I ever see you again?" Sam failed to hide the sadness in his tone.

"I don't know. I'll try to come back. I'll try my hardest. It was so nice to talk to someone real. And someone who didn't randomly burst out singing."

Sam's lip twitches into a grin. "See you, man." He gives Kurt an awkward pat on the shoulder. Kurt squeezes his hand.

"Bye, Sam."

Bright green eyes lock with green-gray, and he disappears around the corner of the pharmacy.


	7. look at the stars, see how they shine

That night, Puck knocks on Rachel's door, and gestures to the pack of beers under one arm and his guitar under the other.

"Picnic?" He asks.

"Oh, of course! I'll be there in a few minutes." Rachel goes to her closet and grabs the red-checked blanket from the top shelf, and then quickly wraps up some cookies she made earlier.

Picnics under the stars were a ritual for Rachel, Puck, and other kids in their apartment complex. They gathered anyone who was free, ate a smorgasbord of food, and just hung out. When you're in a lower class, the whole not-making-eye-contact-with-the-opposite-sex thing is forgotten.

"Sam's gonna chill with us tonight. No one else is free, apparently." Puck says, hovering in the doorway of Rachel's cramped kitchen.

"I like it better when there are less people, anyway. It's hard to enjoy the stars when there's chatter and hollering." Rachel replies.

Sam is a cool kid. He is probably one of the poorest people that they know, which is saying a lot since they are all… poor. But he knows so much—he is practically an encyclopedia of space. Point at any constellation, he'll know its name and a few facts about it. It makes his problems seem small, he says.

Rachel and Puck stop in front of Sam's apartment, and he joins them on their walk to the woods. They find their favorite clearing in the forest, where the trees recede to reveal an expanse of sky.

"Doritoes, anyone?" Sam asks, licking the bright orange dust off his fingers.

"No thanks, man. I know the very exclusive relationship you have with Cool Ranch; wouldn't want to separate that." Puck says. Rachel giggles, and even Sam smirks.

To say it simply, Sam has a Dorito fetish.

Sam reaches over to tune the radio, leaving traces of dusty orange crumbs on the old dials. The crackle of stations seems to compliment faint chirps of crickets and the hum of cicadas.

"Those really bright stars are the Summer Triangle." Rachel sighs and leans back as Sam begins his astronomy lesson. She doesn't even process the majority of what he is saying, but it's nice to keep a few tidbits in the recesses of her brain. And it just feels so natural and familiar… eating a cookie and listening to Sam talk about Sagittarius.

"They're called Vega, Altair, and Deneb."

Puck's guitar pick lightly strums a G chord.

"Please, Puck, don't attempt to write a song about a girl named Deneb again." Sam says, nudging Puck in the arm.

"Dude. Wasn't even thinking about it!" Puck retorts, then mumbles, "I thought a song about Vega would flow better."

Much later, Sam is still babbling about constellations. "And the technical name for the Big Dipper is—Puck. I have a question."

"Yeah, dude?" When there are fewer kids, they always reach a point in the night where they stop talking about stars and start talking about life issues.

"Do you… do you ever get confused about girls?"

"All the time, man. All the time. I sometimes question if they are even the same species."

"Hey!" Rachel frowns, throws a cookie crumb at Puck, and hits him square on the nose.

"Rach, I'm sorry. But you girls are confusing as fucking—"

"Language, Noah."

"Sorry. So, why you ask, bro?"

"Just… oh, forget it. This isn't the right question for you. You're probably the horniest guy to ever exist."

"Right you are, my friend."

"But… I wonder if I like them at all, sometimes. They don't make me _feel_ anything."

Puck wrinkles his brow. "I'm not a… _feelings_ sort of guy. Does it really matter?"

"Umm, yeah. I mean, most people don't settle with quick hook-ups like you."

"Quick hook-ups are getting a little old, though. I've done it with practically every girl in our class. Well, except…"

"Don't even _think_ about it, Noah. I don't consider sex with you a platonic, friendly gesture at all." Rachel inches away from Puck.

"Rach, I've known you since we were babies. Doing it with you would be awkward. So I'm willing to pass." Puck replies, trying to forget that they _had _been romantically involved, if only for a moment. "But what were you saying, bro?"

Sam pulls at a loose thread on the picnic blanket. "I don't know. I don't think I'll ever find 'the one' in this class. Or in this whole town, dammit. Stupid confining society. Think you'll ever find her, Puck?"

Puck tilts his head back to look at the canopy of trees behind them, and then glances at his surroundings. That rock, ten feet away, was where he used to play Native Americans with her. They smashed berries with their feet and used them as warpaint. And the creek, over there? They used to make little boats out of twigs and let them float with the current.

Underneath that oak was their first real kiss.

_No. Get Quinn out of your mind. She _obviously _isn't the one. I mean, she may feel like it, but rules say otherwise. And the rules are inescapable._

Puck may be a self-proclaimed rule breaking badass, but even he didn't question keeping his… relationship, of sorts, with Quinn unknown.

"Someday, I hope. You, Rachel?"

She clears her throat. "Do you ever feel this connection with someone, even though you barely know them? And you just feel like… it's made to be? Even though every other person, every other thought is telling you otherwise?"

"Nah," says Sam, biting his lip at the massive lie.

"No, never," whispers Puck, pretending to be entranced by a star.

Rachel sighs. Confessing her meeting with Finn is probably a bad idea.

"Me neither."


End file.
